High Heat Read Online Free PDF Page A

you to know," he said softly, "that I love you." He looked at me. "That I love both of you. You know that, don't you?"
    "Yes," Marian said.
    I nodded.
    He stood to his full height. "Good luck with your game." Then he went through the door leading to the garage. A couple of minutes later I heard his car race down the block.
    By then Mom had returned. Marian looked at her. "What's happening?"
    "Your dad has a meeting, honey. That's all."
    "Is something bad going to happen to him?"
    "Remember what your dad said. As long as we stick by one another, nothing really bad can happen to any of us. Right?"
    ***
    Our game was against Inglemoor High, a big suburban school on the north shore of Lake Washington. I thought about telling Coach Levine I was feeling sick and skipping the game. What difference would it make to anybody? He'd given me two chances, and I'd blown them both. He wouldn't give me a third. Besides, it didn't seem right to be playing a baseball game with my dad in trouble.

    But I didn't want to go home to Mom with her cigarettes and Marian with her sad face, so when school ended I made my way to Coach Levine's office. "Can you give me a ride to the game?" I asked.
    "Anytime." He pointed to a duffel bag filled with baseballs and catcher's gear. "Give me a hand with that?"
    I was afraid he'd want to make small talk as we drove, but instead he tuned the radio to KJR, and for the entire ride we listened to callers grouse about the Mariners or the Sonics. As we pulled into the parking lot by the field, he reached forward and flicked the radio off. "Look, Shane," he said, turning toward me, "I read the newspaper. I know this is a tough time for you and your family—"
    "I know what you're going to say," I said, interrupting. "That you're not going to pitch me for a while. I understand. I've stunk it up; it's what I deserve."
    "You should let people finish, Shane. Because I was going to say the exact opposite. I think that you need to keep pitching. That you need baseball; that baseball might keep you from going crazy." He paused. "Besides, without solid relief pitching, Clarke and Parino will wear out, pure and
simple. If we're going to get anywhere in the playoffs, we're going to need you. But you've got to be clear in your head. When you're out on the mound, you have to think baseball and leave the other stuff behind. So what do you say? Can you do that?"

    "I'll try."

    In the early innings, I kept checking the parking lot, half expecting to see my dad's Lexus. But it wasn't there and it wasn't there and it wasn't there. Finally I knew he wasn't coming, and I was able to watch the baseball game.
    It was a tight game. Inglemoor's pitcher had been All-League the year before. A lefty, he had long brown hair and a fastball that seemed to come from first base. He had our batters backing away from the plate, taking feeble swings. The only hit we got was a little dribbler up the third base line in the fourth that Greg beat out.
    Terry Clarke started for us. He wasn't as good, but he was lucky, and that works too. Inglemoor had some solid hits—a couple of doubles and one triple—but they couldn't put anything together. After six innings the game was scoreless.
    Then, with one out in the top of the seventh, their pitcher plunked Beanie Cutler in the back with a sailing fastball. Cutler went down hard, and stayed down for a couple of minutes. That seemed to rattle the pitcher, because he walked Stan Cantfield, our next hitter, on four pitches—all of which were way outside. Two on with one out was the closest thing to a rally we'd had all game. If we could squeeze across one run, we might steal a victory.
    That's when I heard Levine's voice. "Hunter, get ready."

    There are some days when you just have it. The ball fit perfectly between my fingertips, as if it were made only for me. My pitches were popping Bill Diggs's glove. I felt loose and fast.
    But it didn't look as if I'd get in, at least not then. Whatever